Corrupt Books Novels & Stories

My hands are dusty, and I’m sick of the smell of musty old pages, and they’re just so boring – Page after page of history regarding shifter worship practices – who genuflected to this god, and how, and where, and for how long, and the minute changes in the practices… I groan, pushing my twentieth book away from me and looking dourly at the stack of about fifty still left in my pile. “Come on, Cora,” Roger says, sitting comfortably across from me, smirking at me over the edge of a neat little green text. “You’re supposed to be the smart one in the family. I thought you’d have more staying power than this.” “Ella’s smart,” I reply, immediately defensive. He nods, conceding the point. “But you

So Proserpina moves on to the next row, then the next one, and the next one, on and on until she was literally kneeling like a child on the floor when she finally comes across a book third to the last on the bottom row in between a skinny book and leather bound one; the book was silver-gray, small and light in her hands and the cover seemed to have some sort of glossy material in it as it twinkled when she turned it here and there… ‘Kind of a child’s storybook,’ she noted. The book was almost as big as her palm and seemed to have pages as what one would expect from a novelette. She carefully opens it up to the first page–not wanting to have a repeat of another destroyed book because a destro

Monalisa Smutty books were getting way too filthy for my taste lately. The couple in the one I was reading were twisted into a position that looked physically impossible, legs over shoulders, back arched at a brutal angle, the hero slamming into her so deep and hard it looked like he was trying to ruin her for any other man. The author deserved jail time. How the hell did someone even write something that dirty? And how was the heroine not cramping? I gripped my Kindle so tight my knuckles turned white, equal parts horrified and shamefully turned on, when the chaos downstairs exploded again. Bass vibrated through the floor. Loud laughter. Splashing. Drunken shouts.

failed. "ERROR," the voice of the High Council spoke from the cyan clouds. "ASSET-VALUE AT ZERO. CONTINUITY IS UNSUSTAINABLE." The Liquidator let out a sound of pure, mechanical agony. He looked at his hands, which were now trembling. "Darlene... the... the files... they’re corrupted..." "No, Jackson," I said, my voice sounding like a thousand bells. "They’re Authentic." The "Bankruptcy" hit the mate-bond.

"These texts hold the key to unlocking the truth. We must study them diligently." Luna, her curiosity piqued, picked up a worn leather-bound book. "Look at this, it speaks of the Black Beast—a creature of immense power that was said to be capable of harnessing the corruption itself. Could this be the source of the darkness we face?" Hyperion nodded, his expression grave. "The Black Beast is a legend rooted in our ancient history. It is said that it possesses the ability to channel and control the corruption, using it as a weapon. If we are to understand and confront the corruption, we must comprehend the true nature of the Black Beast."

They trooped in twos and threes till Tobias himself came out last. Grimm was waiting for him outside the Church. Tobias knew something was amiss when he saw it. "The dog?" Nun Estelle smiled when she saw Grimm. "It's cute, though." Ignoring her attention-seeking act, Tobias followed Grimm's lead, to the Rectory. Grimm took him to the bookshelves where the wall has been punched in and destroyed. The room looks like a madhouse with weak wall plasters laying around and books from the shelves filling the ground to a certain point.

Broken research logs. Many of them were unreadable. He clicked the first video file. The screen flickered before freezing. FILE ERROR — DATA CORRUPTED Damian tried another. The same result. And another. Corrupted. Destroyed. The fire had done its work well. He moved down the list slowly, opening each file one by one. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Until one entry caught his attention. It was buried near the bottom of the archive. Unlike the others, the file icon appeared intact.

"He's hiding something from me. Or the world is hiding it from him." I began to move through the rows of the last section, where the shelves were made of actual wood, smelling of cedar and rot. This was the dead Row, where books too fragile for digital scanning were kept. I spent hours there, my fingers trailing over spines that crumbled at the touch. I checked liturgy of the Fire, Genealogy of the Unmarked, and the Shadow Rites to see if I would see something concerning what I was. But there was nothing but dry, academic theories.

"That 'power' you developed out of thin air? That wasn't a gift. That was a localized system crash. You were leaking 'main character' energy so fast it manifested as a physical explosion. It wasn't supposed to be part of the magic system, but you forced it into existence by sheer refusal to play by the rules. You turned my gritty romance into a broken superhero movie." I stared at the images, watching myself move through scenes I barely remembered. Watching the world glitch and stutter around me like a broken video game. "Then send me back," I pleaded, my anger fading into a desperate, hollow ache. "If I'm a corruption, delete me. Send me home. I'll never talk about your books again. I'll de

Amazing, what is a better way to distract yourself than reading some dark romance books filled with smut. I got in the library and instantly felt a bit calm. Grabbing my favourite four books I got seated in a cosy comfortable corner, and started reading. An hour later I closed the fourth book in my hands as I groaned frustratingly. For god sake what's wrong with me? I couldn't even read a single book completely. I tried to read them for fifteen minutes and then put them aside while picking up another book. All of these books are my fucking comfort favourite books that I have re-read for so many times. The books whose MMC are my, to heart, book boyfriends.